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Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Once again,
the onus, enjoyable though it may be, was on me to plan our annual fishing trip. We’ve been to some truly
epic places from Montana to Slovenia, so topping past trips was getting
increasingly difficult. This year, we wanted a little wilderness along with our
fishing, and northern Sweden seemed to fit the bill. One of the first things
that struck me during planning was that I was a bit overwhelmed. So much land,
so many bodies of water, so many helicopter companies willing to take you
wherever you go, the logistics involved of organizing the heli and renting a
car just long enough to go shopping for supplies and gear, combined with my
complete and utter lack of any knowledge of the Swedish language quickly proved
to be too much. I did a little research and found Pukka Destinations, a company
run by a German gentleman named Carsten Dogs who organizes trips to the area. I
inquired and he told me over the phone what packages he had available and what we were looking for, and Mark and I chose to take a 5 day trip via inflatable kayak
down a northern Swedish river in which we would stop periodically along the way
to make camp and fish.

And so the
trip was booked, and the weeks and months simultaneously flew and crawled by
until the day of our trip in late August when Mark flew from Singapore to
Switzerland where we packed our gear. This was a part of the trip I was taking
particularly seriously as Mark’s impressive business acumen alone wasn’t enough
to keep us alive for five days in the arctic circle. I had to rely on my gear
and planning. (Read about what gear handled the trip and well, and what didn't, here.)Though I brought along a 3 person Fjallraven Abisko tent, I was
planning on sleeping in Hennessy Deep Jungle hammock. I’d done a few test runs
in the weeks running up the trip, including one rainy night in the alps, so I
felt pretty good about shelter. A 9x9 foot tarp, gas stove, water filter,
cooking gear, hatchet, heavy knife, and some long underwear rounded out the
essentials. As far as rods went, I brought my 9 foot 5 weight H2 (I couldn’t
get my hands on an H3 in time for the trip, damn!), a 9 foot 6 weight Recon for
streamers, a 10 foot 4 weight Recon for nymphing, an Epic 686 for all around
fun use, and a Sawtooth from Tenkara USA because what the heck. Carsten
supplied us with a helpful list of suggested flies so I had spent the previous few
weeks filling boxes for both Mark and I. Full of anticipation, we piled up our
gear and went to sleep with the knowledge that we’d be fishing in the arctic
circle by this time tomorrow.

The next
morning we took an early morning flight from Zürich to Stockholm, and then
from Stockholm to Kiruna. We were met by a taxi that took us to the lodge on
the outskirts of the Swedish mining town. We deposited our gear and were
brought back into town to load up on food and supplies, which went quickly as I
had planned out meals for the week. After another stop at the state run liquor
store to buy some beer and a bottle of local whiskey, we were back at
camp and waiting for the heli to arrive to pick us up. In the meantime we got a
short briefing about the fishing as well as a map marked with potential
campsites and our pickup point. The minutes felt like hours and every
subtle breeze sounded like a helicopter in the distance, but eventually, there
was no mistaking the sound of the approaching chopper. We were ecstatic as the
pilot loaded our gear and piled into the heli. The flight itself didn’t
disappoint, I think I’d been in a heli at some point during my childhood but
this all felt completely new. I gazed out at the passing scenery and the river
beneath. The trip seemed to pass in moments, and before I knew we were standing
amidst a pile of gear watching the heli grow smaller.

You'd have a stupid look on your face too, admit it.

Heli exits stage right.

Fully loaded kayak. Don't forget the TP.

A year of anticipation,
and now we where here. We didn’t have much time to reflect, we needed to
find and set up a proper camp. Our current spot wouldn’t do. It was marshy, the
ground was uneven, and there were no trees. We inflated the kayak while
slapping away mosquitoes and loaded it with as much gear as it would hold and
began the search for a good site. It took longer than anticipated, but 2 hours
or so later we found a good point on a riffle with a good view of plenty of
rising fish. After setting up camp, we built a nice fire and cooked up some
sausages, drinking in both our surroundings as well as sharing swigs of the Mackmyra
whisky we brought. I waded out into the river under the almost perpetual
twilight, and caught a few smaller browns on dry flies before crawling into my
hammock, exhausted.

Sunset at Camp

The next
morning we woke up, made some egg sandwiches for breakfast, and prepared our
camp for the forecasted rainstorms before heading out to fish. Mark caught some
fish on dries, and I had a few hits on a streamer in a likely looking spot, but
the fishing was slow and we spent most of the day getting to know our
surroundings. We napped for an hour or two in the afternoon, explored the area
and made note of a bunch of fishy looking locations to visit the next morning.
It was such a huge river, it was going to take some time to figure it out. Again we caught some more smaller browns on a riffle near camp, and I made some
delicious reindeer chili over our fire for dinner before retiring. Very early
in the morning of day three, shortly after 2 am, I awoke to the sounds of
strong winds and driving rain against the tarp over my hammock. The brief hours
of semi-darkness were over, and I lay in my hammock, warm and dry, and drifted
off back to sleep with a feeling of peace and comfort that I’ll not soon forget.

Prepared for anything.

Releasing a brown.

The view from above. If you can spot the fisherman, the kayak, or the tents, it really puts the size
of the river into perspective.

We woke up
to a grey, rainy morning. I won’t lie, spirits were low as we huddled under a
tarp along with half of Sweden’s mosquito population, lifting the netting from our faces just long enough to eat a spoonful of muesli or take a
sip of coffee, filtering out the drowned mosquitoes with our teeth. Sitting
around camp depressed was pointless, we put on our waders and grabbed a dry bag
and made our way to the spot where I’d had some hits yesterday. I cast
streamers into a deep hole where the river began to flatten out, and Mark cast
dries to a rising pod of fish in a slick. Our mood changed instantly when he
hooked a nice char, which we kept for lunch. We were just about to move on to
another spot when, predictably, I took one last cast with my streamer, and
hooked a nice brown that joined the char on our dinner plates. We had some more
success throughout the day, catching good sized browns on dry flies. The weather changed for the better, the mosquitoes were slightly
less ever-present, we watched in awe as a pair of moose swam across the river
directly in front of camp, and a delicious dinner of fresh trout and baked
potatoes drizzled in olive oil made sure that the day finished off much, much
better than it started.

A pair of Moose crossing the river

What a meal!

Fishing under the seemingly endless arctic sunset

Mark admiring a nice dry-caught brown

Day four
was moving day. We needed to make our way downriver in order to make it closer
to our pick up destination. We had some breakfast, broke camp, and packed up
all our gear. We decided to play it safe and only packed half of our stuff into
the kayak. Theoretically we could have packed it all in but it would have been
quite overloaded and the chance of losing something in the rapids was high. We
headed downstream for an hour or so, past two camps of fisherman, through two
larger lakes and smaller sections of easy rapids before we found a suitable spot.
The ground was much drier here, and as before, we were located just at the top
of a promising section of fast water. We deposited half the gear and began to head back to the first campsite.The wind picked up, and we had to head
both upstream and directly into the wind. A
long, exhausting afternoon loomed large. Hours of rowing, complaining, portaging,
and laughing later, we arrived at our new camp with the remaining gear. We were
too exhausted to fish with any sort of focus and determination but we tried
nonetheless. A few of the young fisherman from a nearby camp came by, and we
found out that not only were they from Switzerland, but that we lived just 15
minutes apart. We chatted with them for a bit while preparing our dinner of
tuna pasta, then headed to bed.

The scenery was consistently breathtaking

Schlepping a kayak through the brush, thankful that I had a good pair of waders. (Mark, on the other hand, did not)

Sunset on the glassy waters, broken up only by our paddle and rising fish

The weather
was beautiful on the fifth day. We saw blue skies for the first time and there
was enough wind to keep the mosquitos at bay but not enough to make casting
particularly difficult. Our plan today was to head to the far side of the river
to fish. We packed up all the ingredients for a shoreside lunch of trout and
potatoes, betting that’d we’d have a nice fish before lunch, and that we did. I
caught fish all morning on streamers, and Mark was doing well on nymphs, and we
kept a good fish for lunch. After lunch I put Mark in a good spot I had found
earlier, and he landed some fat fish on a Matuka. The wind remained strong all
day, and we didn’t see any actively rising fish, but Mark, the eternal
optimist/dry fly snob, tied a stimulator on his Tom Morgan 4 weight and tried anyway. He had
luck almost immediately, and I decided to switch to a Klinkhammer and move my
way through the rocks casting to holding water as well. It was a good strategy,
and my favorite way to fish. At dinnertime we headed back to camp, made some
dinner, and decided to visit the nearby camp of the Swiss guys and share our
second bottle of whiskey with them. They were very friendly, looked to be in
their early 20s, and spent a month every year up in Sweden fishing. We
exchanged photos and stories, and they mentioned that they’d had some luck
night fishing with big streamers. It’s something I’ve wanted to try for a
while, and since this was my last night here, I wouldn’t have another chance. We
headed back to camp and around midnight I very carefully made my way into the
river. It was fully dark and would remain so for a few hours. It was eerie, and
admittedly somewhat stupid. The river was huge, I was alone in the middle of
nowhere wading a few feet from fast deep water in utter darkness. I didn’t need
much imagination to know what could happen if I slipped in the wrong spot. I
took a few casts and lost two streamers in short succession. I decided to call
it a night, I’d rather try night fishing on waters that I’m more familiar with.
I headed back to camp, where Mark was up waiting. If I hadn’t come back at the
time we agreed he’d have come looking for me.

Mark with a nice arctic char

Typical of the size of browns we caught

Mark tying on a fly amidst rising trout

Throwing streamers into a nice hole

The river from a long way up.

The last
day of our trip was already upon us, Mark decided to sit it out when it came to
fishing, and I couldn’t blame him. He’d been dealing with extremely leaky
waders all week, and his feet were waterlogged, cold and wet at the end of
every day and combined with the many mosquito bites, he was a bit worried about
infection. Fortunately I had no such concerns, and focused on my favorite type
of fishing to finish up the trip, casting dries to likely looking spots among
the many rocks and riffles. I packed up all my rods except for my 5 weight H2
and walked to the bottom of the long section of rough water next to our camp,
and waded and rock hopped my way slowly back upstream casting a stimulator to
inviting seams and pockets. Every so often I was rewarded with an unexpected
take that came out of nowhere. And so I spent the rest of the day. Shortly
before the 3pm, the agreed upon time to head towards our extraction point, I
came across some larger trout slashing and jumping in a big slick. It was a
good distance away, and I didn’t have the time to wade carefully to a more
advantageous position, so I launched a hail-mary cast that dropped the
stimulator in the center of the slick. The drift was brief but it was enough to entice a fat 16 inch fish to rocket out of the water and hammer my fly. He immediately
launched himself back in the air and somersaulted 12 feet or so directly
towards me in spectacular fashion. I was taken by surprise, but I raised my rod tip, took up line as quickly as I could until I
felt his weight at the end of the line, and then he promptly snapped me off. I
stood there grinning, my leader whipping in the wind, taking this last fish as a
fitting goodbye to Sweden but also an invitation to return.

The heli picked us up, and brought us back to the lodge where'd we'd spend a night before heading back home. A nice bonus of the trip was the dinner that was included with the trip. I wasn't expecting much in a small town like Kiruna, but when we arrived at the restaurant we were spoiled with a delicious dinner of fat reindeer steaks, charcuterie, and a selection of a hundred or so international microbrews and fine whiskeys.

All in all,
the trip was unforgettable. It put my shifting expectations of a fishing trip
into perspective. Fishing for 12 hours straight and collapsing into bed just to
wake up and do it all over again was undeniably fun and resulted in plenty of
nice fish, but this trip made me realized that I like building a camp, cooking
over a fire, and sharing a bottle of whisky with Mark just as much as the fly
fishing itself. As our 8th trip ended, and as plans for trip numbers
9 and 10 coalesced, we were both aware that every one of these trips is a gift,
and we never know which will be the last.

I'm pretty easy to please. I don't expect heroic efforts and extraordinary performance from people or gear, just enough to get the job done. That said, being alone in the wilderness for a week requires reliable gear and whatever doesn't meet the standard can result in a very uncomfortable if not dangerous experience. Being the optimist that I am, I’ll start with the gear that
exceeded expectations.

All of my
Fjällraven stuff.

It’s no
coincidence that basically everyone here in Sweden wears Fjällraven clothing. They’re
comfortable, durable, and keep both stink and mosquitoes at bay. For the entire
trip I lived in a pair of Barents Pro trousers and a Skogsö jacket and they
showed no wear or damage in any way. I waxed the jacket and pants before the trip, and I also brought along a block of greenland wax to reapply in case the rain was particularly heavy, fortunately it wasn't as wet as we had feared. Mark spent all his nights in the Abisko 3
tent and couldn’t have been happier, it stood up to the heavy wind, rain, and
mosquitoes with aplomb, and it packs down neatly into a small package.

The Fjällraven Abisko 3 tent in its natural environment.

The
Hennessy Deep Jungle hammock. The true star of the trip. I brought it along in
the hopes I could use it but half expecting to share the 3 person tent with
Mark. It ended up being the perfect choice for the trip. We passed literally
hundreds of spots where I could have hung the hammock while looking for dry
level ground to pitch Mark’s tent. Along with a underquilt and a sleeping
blanket, it kept me perfectly warm and comfortable down to the coldest nights
of our trip, which were a windy 4C/40F. It’s no secret that there’s a vocal
group of Hammock campers on the internet, and they tend to be sort of fanatical
about hammocks. I can honestly say that I can see why after this trip. I have
no desire to ever sleep in a tent again if I don’t have to. I don’t know why,
but I’m much more comfortable and happy in a hammock. The hammock I chose for
this trip is the Hennessy Deep Jungle XL hammock, one of many offered by
Hennessy. I chose this one because it has an integrated mosquito net, and a
double bottom that prevents mosquitoes from getting to you through the fabric. Swedish
Lappland is legendary for its mosquitoes, and our trip was no exception. I’ve
never experienced anything like it, we had to keep ourselves covered at all
times, even lifting the mosquito netting from your face long enough to take a
sip of coffee often resulted in a few bites. Yet in the hammock, I was safe. The
material is very strong, and has unique and very comfortable feel to it. Like
practically everyone else who hammock camps, a little experimentation is part
of the game. At first I tried the hammock with a bubble pad in cooler weather,
but found that an underquilt was more comfortable. I’ve since added some new
suspension options from dutchwaregear.com to make setting up and adjusting both
the hammock and the tarp more quickly. I definitely recommend trying a
dedicated camping hammock, but if you do, I can’t stress enough how important
it is to spend a few nights outside testing things out before it really counts.

MSR Pocket
Rocket and General Ecology First Need
Filter. These two items worked great, nothing particular spectacular except
when you consider that I bought both of these things around 20 years ago and
they work as well as they did on day 1. I’m a big buy it for life guy, and
these items definitely fit the bill.

Orvis
Silver Sonic Zip Front Waders. I’ve had these for two seasons now, and I abuse
them. Seeing how miserable Mark was with leaky waders on our recent trip to
Sweden only served to reinforce my opinion that going cheap on waders is likely
to be a bad idea. I spent most of the week in Sweden wearing my silver sonics, I
tripped and fell while wading, slid down rocks, and spent hours bushwhacking
and dragging a kayak through waist high shrubs, yet my legs stayed dry and warm
the entire trip and I had no tears or punctures.

The Hall of
Shame:

I’m quite easy to please and not picky, but some items struck me as
massive failures, particularly the

Korkers
Buckskin Wading boots. I bought these 3 years ago for 130 bucks. I do a good
deal of wet wading as well as fishing from the bank without waders so I’d say
as a wildly optimistic estimate, I wore these 10-20 times a year. They’ve
failed me in almost every aspect. Both shoes have multiple holes as well as
multiple spots where the stitching has come undone, the laces are
disintegrating, and the interchangeable soles have come off randomly twice. (I
found them the first time, but on my most recent trip to Sweden the attachment
knob for the soles came off and the sole is gone for good. It made wading an
already dangerous river even more hazardous). To see a pair of boots in frankly
unusable condition after a maximum of fifty wears in unacceptable. Never again.

I hate you, boots.

Fiskars X10
hatchet. Looks cool, feels good in the hand, and is lightweight. Unfortunately,
normal use (chopping dead branches for a fire) chipped and dented the blade to
the point where it looked like I had been hacking at stones. Come on. I really don't want to spend hours and hours grinding all this damage out, but my choice is either that or buy a new hatchet because this thing is completely unusable in its current state.

That'll take a while to fix...

North Face
Base Camp Duffel – Though not quite as egregious a failure as the other two, I
was really surprised to see a small hole in the duffel on its maiden voyage, a short
commercial flight from Zürich to Stockholm. I’ll patch it and move on, but I
have shitty no name duffel bags from Walmart that cost 95% less than the Base
Camp duffel and have been through far worse without a puncture and that stings
a bit. Maybe there's some disgruntled ex-north face employee working the luggage belts in Stockholm stabbing every TNF bag with an icepick. Who knows?

Thursday, July 27, 2017

It’s been
far too long since I last wrote a post, and this past weekend’s overnight trip to Switzerland’s central alps provided
the perfect fodder and inspiration. First, a little background.. in exactly a month,
I’ll be leaving with my fishing buddy Mark for our 8th annual trip.
No ordinary fishing trip this time, as we’ll be dropped off via heli in the
Swedish backcountry and left to our own devices for 5 days. Although Mark
possesses countless admirable qualities befitting his influential role in
international commerce, he’s also the kind of the guy who shows up for an
alpine fishing trip in loafers. So when he sent a text message saying he was
all set with a headlamp and a yoga mat, the weight of responsibility already on
my shoulders got slightly heavier. Not only was I now in charge of the trip
planning, it also fell to me to make sure this hirsute husband and father of
two returns to Singapore in one piece. I needed to spend a night in the woods
and test some of my gear, and why not combine a night in the woods with a little much needed
exploration of some unfamiliar waters?

When I
arrived Sunday, I immediately went to Sascha’s restaurant to say hi and get a
cup of coffee. He suggested a good spot for me to sleep, and as soon as he was
done with work, we headed over and I set up my hammock in a mossy grove
of pines on the banks of a beautiful river. He graciously invited me to dinner
at his place, so I left my hammock (this is rural Switzerland, it’s not going
anywhere) and headed to his house for a delicious couscous dinner and a
bottle of wine. Sascha’s cooking never disappoints, and it isn’t every day you
get a chef cooking privately for you. Around dusk I said my goodbyes and headed
back to my hammock in the woods. I should have spent the last few minutes of
daylight more productively by hanging my tarp, but I couldn’t resist hopping
down to the river and taking a few casts at the rising fish in the fading
light. I grabbed my bamboo 4 weight rod and tied on a winged ant because, to be quite honest, I only give much
of a thought to fly selection when I really have to. I didn’t bother with
waders, so I rolled up my pants and chased some rises in the chilly alpine
water barefoot. The winged ant ended up being the right choice, and I quickly
landed two nice browns of around 13 inches, a good sized fish in this river.

Setting up my Hennessey with a nice view.

All set, except for the tarp.

Nice brown on a winged ant at dusk.

I grabbed a previously stashed ice cold beer from the river and headed back to
my hammock to end the day. Rain wasn’t forecast, but I didn’t want to take any
chances so I staked out my hex tarp and as I pounded in the 4th
stick with my hatchet, I felt a searing pain on my hand and arm. I must have
pounded the stick directly into a wasp nest. In the dark. I ran from the wasps,
tripped over the guy wire, spilled my beer, and got tagged by the wasps on the
back of my neck, and my side in the process. I was now standing a good 40 feet
from my backpack and my hammock. I googled “how many wasp stings will kill a
human” and read some encouraging articles about people being stung to death by
wasps before deciding I could probably handle one or two more, so I ran back
and forth, grabbing everything I could and quickly and mercifully located a new
pair of trees. I hung the hammock, my arm swelling to the point that I had to
remove my watch. Dejected, puffy and beerless, I sat on a tree
stump and decided to make a cup of tea. Another good friend of mine, also named
Mark, (let’s call him Mark K.) very generously gave a me a cool little white gas
stove that he ordered from a company called White Box Stoves. A nifty little
recycled aluminum canister, you basically fill it with white gas, let it burn,
and wait a minute or so until the vapor inside the canister ignites and sends
flames out of all the holes in the side. It worked great both for coffee/tea as
well eggs the next morning, and it’s tiny, light, and uncomplicated. Its
definitely found a permanent home in my kit. Testing out a new piece of gear
improved my spirits somewhat, and though I was still in considerable discomfort thanks to
the wasp stings, I crawled into my hammock and under my surplus Swiss military wool blanket and
let the sound of the river below and the distant jangling of sheep bells lull
me into a fitful sleep.

My second hastily selected campsite. Thankfully I had a hammock, as a quick relocation
would have been much more of a pain in the ass with a tent...

Somewhat irritated and still in pain, but warm and cozy under a wool blanket in my hammock.

I was up
early the next morning. Earlier than usual, which for me, is really early. Around
5:30 I crawled out of my hammock and made a cup of coffee with my aeropress,
and some eggs cooked in olive oil. I scarfed down the food, and immediately
made use of the two hours I had before I had to go catch minnows for transport
to a high alpine lake. (As a member of the local fishing club, we’re required
to help out occasionally, something which I always find rewarding anyhow)

I put on my
waders and boots and scrambled down to the river at this obscenely early hour. I don’t think I’ve ever wet a line before 6 AM before. The first cast with a
flying ant and I hooked into a keeper-sized fish. And the second. And the
third. I should fish at dawn more often, I thought. I moved carefully through a long
section of pools in this smaller gorge with good success, and then headed back
to camp to pack up and head to my car. Thanks to my hammock and gas stove, I
literally left no trace of my night there, just the way I like it.

My camp in the morning..

while boiling water for some much needed coffee..

followed by some eggs.

First fish of the morning..

I’ll spare
you the details of the awkward hours spent chasing minnows at a scenic mountain
lake and skip straight the evening’s fishing. Nonetheless, a big part of the reason for my trip here was my obligatory work for the local fishing club, in my case, catching minnows destined for transport to high alpine lakes as trout food.

My minnow catching companion.

I was able to wear my watch again the next morning, but the swelling was still visible.

After
depositing the minnows in a prepared tank, I had a decision to make: fish a
river I’ve fished before and love, or explore some of the other many, many
waters of our fishing club? I opted for the latter. I made my way to a smaller
tributary and immediately lost a fish in the first pool. I fished upriver for a
few hours, the bright sun didn’t dampen the trouts’ enthusiasm for dries, but I
did spook more than I normally would. Nonetheless, many browns up to about 12
inches were caught. This section ended in a beautiful and very deep pool, impassable for someone without ropes and gear. The pool held an appropriately
sized (read: big) brown that smashed my ant.

The last pool of the day.

I took a few photos, drank in the
sights and the sounds, and headed back downriver and home, sunburned and tired,
but very content.